Her tail swishes back-and-forth as she grazes
on dark green spring grass. From time to time,

she sways her long neck from side to side,
sheares off chosen blades. Now she shakes

her head towards the sun, her caramel mane
lifts and falls. She hasn’t heard about the heat

advisory. Nor of any news. She soaks in the elements
day by day. Instinct leads her to graze in sun,

to move to shade, to stand under the roof of her barn.
To drink her fifteen gallons a day and lick her salt block.

She sees me next time she lifts her head—
gallops up and neighs, nuzzles me,

though I am the one who keeps her corralled.
Yet, she seems so much freer than me.